


Above

by adrift_me



Series: Entrusted - Gravebone Short Stories [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10038128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Graves shows Credence a magical spell. Magical things happen.Based off an on-set photo of Graves, coming through a window.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for reading this and previous stories as well. I would greatly appreciate your prompts, in comments or in my tumblr ask, because I do love new ideas to write about! Fluff and angst are particularly welcome.
> 
> My awesome friend [Marion](gravesfrommacusa.tumblr.com) doomed me into writing fluff forever, so this is for her once again.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/) :)  
> 

It may be insanity that Graves agrees to such a venture, for it’s as much foolish as it’s thrilling. And yet he agrees.

It feels like a novel move, apparating right into the window of a small church that is an eyesore for anyone looking. The window is conveniently opened and a set of short lace curtains is pulled apart. Graves finds himself in a tiny room that barely has space for a narrow wardrobe, a small bedside table, a low bed and barefooted Credence, sitting upon it.

“Mr. Graves,” the boy leaves his bed quickly and quietly, betraying the idea that he often stays up late and knows how to avoid needless noise. His whisper is but a sigh in silence as he greets the auror.

“Hello, Credence,” Graves whispers back. He makes a throwing gesture towards the door with his hand and proceeds talking in a normal voice. “See, my boy, magic offers quite a variety of useful spells.  _ Muffliato _ being one of them.” 

The auror looks at Credence who stands before him in a shabby plain set of pajamas that barely reach his ankles. He is leaning forward slightly, and it’s an invitation enough for Graves to step closer and bring Credence to his chest in a light embrace. The man’s hands hold him lovingly, patting his head and rubbing his back. It dawns on Graves, heavily and with pleasure, that this embrace is a peaceful moment he craved for, the one that he searched for all this time. The swirl and energy of MACUSA is exhilarating, but a harmony of this embrace is as addicting.

Graves turns his head to whisper, “It’s unwise to stand with your feet bare on cold floor. It’s best you returned to bed.”

Credence doesn’t need explaining, doesn’t need ushering, as he slides out of Graves’ arms and climbs back onto his bed.

Graves follows, sits beside him, wondering if the flimsy bed can handle their weight. It creaks and sags but holds together still. The auror’s glance wanders about the dark room that, he suspects, has nothing to reveal even in daytime. 

“So this is where you live, Credence?”

It’s a miserable accommodation under the roof, created to store the darkest fears, haunting nightmares and buried secrets. There are close to no signs of living, no trinkets or day to day items, no feeling of home. The room is lacking and cold like the whole church itself.

Graves looks back at the boy by his side, whose lips form a small smile. It’s a surprising image, almost unnatural, the way those full lips curve and those black eyes stare at the floor. There are happy wrinkles around them, and Graves appreciates how beautiful Credence’s face can be.

“What are you smiling about, Credence?”

“You, in my room, sir,” replies the boy in whisper, his lips smiling still.

“I admit it’s… quite amusing.”

Graves looks at the young man who sits with his legs pulled up and feet hanging off the edge of the bed. Despite their pre-planned meeting, Credence doesn’t seem to be waiting for something. He looks content with having Graves sitting next to him, he doesn’t rush into conversation and doesn’t urge for the subject of magic. Percival considers it an opportunity to follow the boy’s example and for once slip out of his regular lifestyle, where things don’t get out of hands and follow the one and only path he chooses.

He is not a romantic man, or he doesn’t consider himself one, but it feels natural to slide his heavy coat off his shoulders and wrap it around Credence’s. The boy seems to be drowning in the coat that still holds Graves’ body warmth. Percival squeezes his shoulders lightly and proceeds to remove the scarf from his neck. As soon as it comes off, it reveals a starched white shirt, that’s almost glowing in the dark mansard.

“Won’t you be cold, Mr. Graves?” asks Credence, turning his head a little.

“No, my boy. But thank you for your concern.”

They sit in quiet for a minute more before Graves brings up the purpose of their meeting. 

“I must admit I’m surprised you asked me to come here. I understand the essential secrecy for our meeting, but the Second Salem church…”

“This is the last place one looks for magic, sir.”

Graves looks at the boy, his expression set amused.

“You are a very smart young man, Credence. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” his voice is a balm of compliments and affection, as he runs his thumb down Credence’s cheek. His knuckles gently caress the boy’s cheekbones and it’s only too endearing to see how Credence’s lashes flutter and his eyes close.

“When we met, I felt the power in you, Credence. Magic. When did you first realise it?”

He wants to learn every secret the young man hides, he wants to guide those secrets to become his strength. He wants to tear apart the shell of pain and isolation that envelopes Credence, confines him to stooping shoulders and fearful whispering. Any time Graves’ lips touch Credence’s skin, he can feel an earnest human being, wishing and deserving to be loved.

Words don’t come easily to Credence but he seems to find them in a hoarse voice, a level louder than whisper.

“When I was eight,” is his curt reply.

Graves knows it’s the age many wizards discover their magic at. But as the boy had no one to bring it out, to celebrate rather than hate it, magic hid itself in the deepest darkest corners of Credence’s being.

“Have you ever managed to perform something magical?”

“No.”

“Why don’t I help you, Credence? Give me your hand, please?”

Credence fidgets inside the coat, releasing his arm and reaching for Graves. Percival catches his hand delicately. He can’t resist the urge of planting a kiss on the young man’s hand, closing his eyes and holding it pressed to his lips. Credence’s skin is smooth, warmed by the coat, and Graves covers it with more kisses before he has to stop himself. The boy barely moves, apparently flushed by increasing attention and affection from someone like Graves.

It’s an outrage what crosses Graves’ mind. He smiles and follows his whim, pulling out the magical wand from his pocket. It’s stylish, polished, with an elegant grip. He brings it to Credence’s hand and the boy instinctively wraps his fingers around the wand. Graves’ own hand covers Credence’s.

“Every witch and wizard in our world uses a wand. It chooses you, becomes your tool for performing magic. You are untrained, Credence, but I can help you.”

“What should I do, Mr. Graves?” he asks, his eyes staring at the wand in awe. He seems oblivious to the fact that he is in Percival’s embrace and that the auror’s hand is cradling his own.

“Let’s bring some light to that darkness, shall we?”

Percival’s eyes search for a rustic candle holder that stands on the bedside table.

“All you need to do is to  _ want _ to make it light up. Feel the magic inside you, listen to how it rushes through you, how it  _ wants _ to reach the tip of the wand and light that candle.”

Before Graves can finish the phrase, the room is suddenly dimly lit by a lonely candle on the bedside table. The fire dances in stillness of silence, watched by bewildered Credence and excited Graves. His hand squeezes the boy’s upper arm as he whispers in his ear joyfully.

“I see magic is practically bursting out of you.”

He can see Credence’s face clearly now, shadows playing peculiarly on his sharp cheekbones and full lips. It’s captivating, the way Credence smiles sincerely, leaning towards the flickering light and wondering if it’s a dream he is having this night.

He is still holding Graves’ wand, his hand untrained and unsure. It’s easy to slide it out of his fingers and flicker the light away, drowning the room back in its natural darkness. Everything is still once again, no sound coming from any corner of the church. All Graves can hear is uneven excited breathing in Credence’s chest, his heart beating a joyful rhythm away.

He too is joyful. Endless possibilities open before him. Credence’s magic is not a promise solely for the boy himself, it’s a promise of hope to Graves. He is eager to sweep him off his feet, put him in a world of magic where he belongs, surround him by goodness and wonders. For now all Graves can do is slide his arms around Credence’s body, hiding them both in the warmth of a heavy coat, and press his lips to a slightly feverish forehead.

_ But why stop _ , Graves wonders, leaving a trail of short kisses down the young man’s face. Credence pushes his face towards Percival, as if he is standing under a crushing force of a waterfall, drinking in all the love that pours on him. His eyes are closed and his ridiculously long eyelashes tickle Graves’ skin.

Percival’s fingertips trace every feature on this beautiful face, longing to be touched. He can’t help but brush dry lips with his thumb. They are chapped from being in cold for too long, they are unkissed, but keen.

Graves finds himself biting on his own lip, hovering inches away from Credence’s face. He doesn’t know where resolution comes from as he moves away slowly, sliding his hand off the boy’s neck in a caressing gesture.

“I’m sorry, Credence. I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” he estranges himself from the young man, but Credence’s body follows as if spellbound. Graves smiles at him, giving a final squeeze to his shoulder and rising from the creaking bed.

“We’ll continue later, Credence. There is much to prepare.”

“Will I see you soon, sir?” asks the boy in a husky whisper, rising from the bed as well and sliding out of the coat. Graves hates the way he stands in a posture of servitude, offering the coat back to the auror. He accepts it from the boy’s arms, leaving a gentlemanly kiss on his hand yet again.

“You will, Credence. Oh my boy, you will.”


End file.
